


In the glass I come to you

by triggerlil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Candles, Churches & Cathedrals, M/M, Mystery, Not Beta Read, Questioning, Rain, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:41:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27048133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triggerlil/pseuds/triggerlil
Summary: Draco spends a moment in an abandoned church, sees a Saint, and lights a candle. All so he can continue on a journey where he doesn't know the destination.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 16
Kudos: 18





	In the glass I come to you

Draco sat in the back row of pews, neck craned to stare up at the stained glass. The piece was tall and all-consuming, a kaleidoscope of faith, reds and blues intertwined in embrace, saints with their halos, silently crying rapture. 

He tugged on the cuff of his suit, a cheap fabric that made him itch, but all he could afford right now. He’d half expected to burst into flames the moment he stepped foot into this holy place, starting with his left forearm, then quickly engulfed for every sinful thing he’d done. 

Of course that didn’t happen. If there was some sort of higher being, They didn’t care about Draco Malfoy. Which was fine, that’s what he was used to. He might as well be a ghost for what it was worth, dead to his family, dead to his friends, a phantom voice they were all trying to forget in their desperation to escape who he’d become. 

He closed his eyes—surprised to sink into the aura of the church warm, everything still and quiet—he’d walked in, not sure what to expect, to find the building empty. No minister, no sermons… Just a row of candles at the door, and a box of matches, an offering for those still living that they might honour their dearly departed. 

Draco had lit one for himself. Sacrilegious? Yes. But when had a Malfoy ever respected what they did not understand? 

Sighing, he made to stand, not really knowing why he’d come here in the first place. He’d been on a drive and felt inexplicably drawn.

“Going so soon?” Someone asked, and Draco whipped around, but there was no one else here, he was sure of it. He could feel the stillness, the aura of _only_ and _alone._

“Look up.” 

Draco looked up. 

In a small, circular frame, the crown of one of the stained glass installations, a woman gazed down at him. He didn’t know who she was, although he wasn’t that informed on the Anglican faith in any case. The Malfoys didn’t follow faith, or hope, or religion, they followed money, and power, and bloodlines. They followed magic, because magic meant success, magic meant safety. They really were such bloody Slytherins. 

“Have you found what you’re looking for?” the woman asked, leaning forward in her portrait, glass pieces shifting. 

“I don’t know,” Draco replied, quirking an eyebrow at the unbelievability of it all. The woman smiled knowingly. 

“Do you know what you want?” 

Draco frowned. “What convoluted questions.” 

She hummed. “Only if you’re a convoluted man.”

“Then where do I go? To find answers?” 

“You already know, don’t you?” She said, tapping her chin with one lithe finger. “You chase the thing you’ve been wishing for all this time.” 

“He’s gone,” Draco ground out, clenching his teeth. It would do no good to swear at a Saint. “He’s just gone.” 

“Is he?” she asked. “Is it mere coincidence that you both came to this place? This place that only attracts wanderers, people of the same spirit.” 

“He was here?”

She began to lean back, sunlit rainbows skittering across the floor after her, pieces shifting back into place. “Continue your journey.” The light began to fade from her eyes—that telltale sign of consciousnesses—and she went back to being nothing more than stained glass. 

The quiet rain that had begun when Draco had entered now began to pick up, battering the copper roof, forcing every Saint and Saviour to weep. 

Draco sighed, maneuvering out of the pew, and heading for the large doors of the church. He stood in front of the candles, and pulled out his wand. 

He lit one more candle, and watched the flame dance, reaching upwards with its fellows. One more flame for the man he thought of every night, scarred forehead and round glasses, strong arms and the scent of sandalwood. For the feeling of remembering, each morning when he woke, every word both said and unsaid, sun streaming in through the motel window as he blinked blearily at the ceiling, and wished he could do it all again. 

Draco walked out of the church, not bothering to cast an _Impervius_ , and got into his car. The engine started up with an angry cough, and he put it into drive. She was right, that woman in the window, Harry Potter wasn’t really gone, so much as he was waiting for Draco to find him. 


End file.
